I keep it upstairs, gonna jump out of the cake with my heart on a string, keep it upstairs, keep it upstairs, keep it upstairs

This is one of my favorite times of year, when the woods are still full, warm and overflowing, and fall is just a whisper away. You can feel sentimental about it since there aren't ramifications yet. I planted some fall variety sunflowers just to see if I could stretch out my luck on a second crop, and soon it will be time for cole crops again.

Still, you forget about mountain summers: how cold they can be. I don't know if the checkered shirt I bought today is even blue or black because of the cloudy weather.

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Sunday, my friend and I were talking about the phenomenon of the hotness "bubble," and examples of this personality and its aftermath. At the end of the conversation, he shook his head and said, "You're just lucky you don't have to deal with it, since you're so fucking weird." I didn't know whether to be terribly complimented or insulted.

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I found a new The National album on spotify that's just a live version of the exact show we saw earlier this year in Cville. The show was extra good because they played so much of my favorite album, quite an older one at that, and it's wonderful to find that same playlist on something I can hear again and again, such as now, when I'm writing and drinking champagne on my porch.

At the show we went to, my boss kept texting me. She had planned to go, but had to cancel at the last minute because her daughter was sick. She had much better seats than I did, and kept offering to drop them off at the show, since she lives in downtown Cville. But I was there with like eight friends, and I didn't want to ditch them to go sit up front by myself. Then, during my absolute favorite song, Matt Berninger drunkenly threw himself off stage and sang the whole song from the section I would have been in. The song is Mr. November, and I like it so much because it really bangs, but also is emblematic of such an excessively hard time in my life, that it's painful to hear too. I didn't exactly know what the lesson there was, so I bought myself a conciliatory hot pink muscle shirt from the band merchandise, and called myself square with it. It was one of my happiest nights of summer.

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I promise, as weird as it sounds, I can see the morning glory on my front porch actively growing: moving, wrapping, touching each other softly in the night. I always wonder about these moments, like the last seven days have been for me, when everything stops and throws itself into perspective. I feel very present in this uncertain time--I see where it hurts me, or catches me. You can see the shadows, the important parts, the gaps and the profile of your own ass in very good jeans.